We now have a shipping date. We’re packing and trashing and selling all kinds of stuff, and Callaghan’s starting to eat some of the preserved food we’d stockpiled for emergencies, because why not? It’s there, and we’re not taking it with us. Last night, he opened a can of cannelloni to eat with the salad and fresh asparagus we were also having.
I studied the contents of his plate. The cannelloni looked like reddish-beige rubber tubes with glossy pink sausagey-looking things inside.
“So what exactly is that ‘mystery meat’,” I wondered out loud, fully aware that if there was an answer, then it wouldn’t be a mystery.
“A course,” said Callaghan.
I thought I heard “of course.” I waited for him to continue.
“Course!” he repeated.
I’m so confused! My head’s going to explode!
My mind whipped through all the French words I know, searching for one that would sound like “course” that might bear resemblance to a meat-related word in English.
“Course.” I tried out the word myself. Still didn’t make sense. What the hell is he talking about?
“If you don’t know whether it’s a cow or a horse, it’s a cowrse,” Callaghan explained.
Cowrses have chicken heads, didn’t you know?